Recently, 'Milk Tea Sister' Zhang Zetian has become a hot topic again. She launched a podcast show, with a title that sounds like a spinoff from an old-fashioned romance novel: "Xiao Tian Zhang." The guest for the first episode was Carina Lau, the 'big sister' of Hong Kong's entertainment circle. A conversation between the wife of JD.com's founder, with a net worth of tens of billions, and an evergreen superstar of the film industry. Just looking at the promotional poster, this setup promised to be a explosive clash of titans, a glimpse into the secrets of the elite, right? It should have been fascinating.
Instead, it was met with widespread ridicule online. After curiously watching the entire 80-minute episode, I feel compelled to share my thoughts. Today, let's thoroughly discuss this program that countless netizens found 'extremely boring'; and the harsh truth it reflects.
The biggest problem with "Xiao Tian Zhang" is not that it's 'bad,' but that it's 'empty.' A refined, expensive, yet utterly hollow kind of 'emptiness.'
What was the topic of their initial pleasantries? The interior decoration of Carina Lau's home. Zhang Zetian, with an expression of admiration, complimented Lau's taste, while Lau casually mentioned the origins of the property. They then moved on to discuss Lau's personal experiences and her relationship dynamics with Tony Leung. In theory, this was a good starting point. But the dialogue felt like it was happening in a vacuum. Halfway through, they even started talking about 'what nature teaches us...'
For the entire 80 minutes, not a single detail felt grounded. Their conversational tone was akin to two socialites who had just enjoyed a top-tier spa treatment, sitting high above the clouds, looking down on the masses, and sighing lightly, saying, "Ah, the air is just better up here." This resulted in a profoundly awkward viewing experience: a shallow chat seemingly oblivious to the struggles of ordinary life. For Carina Lau, who has long been established and successful, this detached demeanor might reflect her current reality. That's fine. But for Zhang Zetian, as the host of the show, it was disastrous. Why? Because she provided zero 'incremental information.' If you want to conduct interviews, you should either be like Xu Zhimo, piercing through the guest's facade with pointed questions to uncover human vulnerabilities; or like Jin Xing, offering sharp, critical commentary, tearing away the veils of the entertainment industry. Failing that, be like "Kangxi Coming," where even discussing a clogged toilet can exude a relatable, earthy vitality. But "Xiao Tian Zhang" offered none of this. It had neither the juicy gossip from high society (which fuels public curiosity) nor deep reflections that resonate with the soul (the hallmark of quality content). It was like an exquisite French plating: a large, beautifully decorated plate holding a single pea. After finishing it, you're not only still hungry but feel as if the plate is mocking you: 'What, don't you appreciate this level of sophistication?'
This leads to an interesting question: Why did Zhang Zetian launch a podcast at this time? For money? Don't be ridiculous. With assets worth tens of billions, the revenue share from this show probably isn't enough to cover the pre-spend required for a Hermès Himalayan Birkin bag. The answer boils down to two words: Display. Displaying what? Displaying that even after marrying into immense wealth, she still possesses an independent 'career ambition'; Displaying her 'circle of friends' that includes A-listers like Carina Lau; Displaying her growth arc from 'Milk Tea Sister' to 'Producer Zhang.'
In this era where traffic is king, 'being seen' is itself a form of power. However, this display is profoundly arrogant. Because a display requires an audience. A performance without an applauding audience is merely a soliloquy. Zhang Zetian, and others of her ilk who are eager to flaunt an 'independent woman' persona, have made a fatal error. They want to use the attention of ordinary people to burnish their elite image; yet they disdain understanding the real pain points of those same ordinary people. Someone asked, 'Is providing emotional validation for wealthy wives really a duty we ordinary people must fulfill?' That question is truly thought-provoking.
Let's examine Zhang Zetian's life trajectory. She married an ultra-wealthy tycoon immediately after graduation and has had three children. Her children were born in Rome, so to speak. Each child likely has multiple nannies and receives the world's most elite education. Given such a life experience, what common ground for empathy could she possibly share with ordinary people?
While you're anxious about being laid off at 35, she's discussing 'what nature teaches us'; While you're stressed about securing a school district apartment for your child, she's talking about 'Sister Carina's great taste in decor.' If her target audience were fellow socialites and wealthy wives, that would be fine—it would be their circle's version of Versailles-style socializing. But since it's broadcast on public internet platforms, aiming to harvest public attention, she can't blame the public for feeling offended. What the public resents is not wealth itself. We resent those who already command the lion's share of societal resources yet come before ordinary people, pretending to have similar worries, pretending to work hard, all while conveniently harvesting admiration and traffic. This smacks of wanting to have your cake and eat it too.
You say you want to be an independent woman, a host. Fine, then we'll judge you by the standards of a host. And judged as a host, Zhang Zetian's performance in "Xiao Tian Zhang" can only be described as 'amateurish.' Unable to play off cues, incapable of digging for substance. Often, when Carina Lau offered an opening, Zhang could only respond with a dry "yes." This contrast inevitably makes one nostalgic for another figure. A host once widely mocked online but increasingly remembered with fondness: Chen Luyu.
In the past, Chen Luyu was frequently criticized. People mimicked her catchphrases: 'Really?' 'I don't believe it.' There's even a widely circulated interview clip.
In 2008, on Phoenix TV's "A Date With Luyu · Tell Your Story," while interviewing a left-behind child, she asked, 'Why don't you eat meat? Isn't meat tasty?' This became ironclad proof of Luyu being 'oblivious to people's hardships,' her modern version of 'Why not eat minced meat?' Countless people used this clip to nail Luyu to the pillar of shame as a 'feeble-minded host.'
But was that truly the case? She was actually using this seemingly 'naive' questioning to guide the child into verbally revealing the harsh reality: 'Because meat is too expensive; we can't afford it.' By having the subject say it themselves, she allowed the audience to viscerally feel the impact of that poverty. This is the mark of a professional journalist: Lowering oneself, even playing dumb, solely to elicit the most authentic side from the guest. Chen Luyu's 'Really?' was, in fact, a highly sophisticated conversational lubricant.
When a guest expressed a surprising opinion or shared a remarkable experience, a 'Really?' served both to express surprise and interest, and to invite the guest to elaborate further. It wasn't skepticism, but an invitation. Moreover, Chen Luyu possesses immense empathy and extensive preparatory research. Consider her interview with Wang Jianlin. That famous line, 'First, make a hundred million,' originated on her show.
Without Luyu's air-like, natural presence, would a heavyweight like Wang Jianlin have been so relaxed, eating, chatting casually, and discussing life? Chen Luyu practices 'self-effacement' in her interviews. She's willing to appear clumsy, ignorant, even laughable, if it means getting genuine words from her guests; she doesn't care about protecting her own image. That is true confidence, and true professionalism.
Why does Zhang Zetian's show feel 'empty,' while even Chen Luyu's awkward chats yield substance? The fundamental reason lies in the focus: on 'people.' Zhang Zetian focuses on 'social strata.' Her producing this show feels more like posting an 80-minute-long social media update. The subtext is: 'Look, Sister Carina and I are close friends; we ponder life's advanced questions.' This starting point inevitably results in content that remains superficial. Because delving into pain, struggle, or hardship wouldn't be elegant; it wouldn't fit the 'perfect wealthy wife' persona. In contrast, excellent media professionals focus on 'human nature.' Whether billionaire or beggar, star or commoner, beneath the trappings of status lie universal emotions: joy, anger, sorrow, happiness, greed, resentment, obsession, arrogance, and doubt. Therefore, interviewing is an art of intrusion, but also an art of empathy. You must dare to puncture the guest's airbag of safety, while simultaneously being prepared to catch their revealed vulnerability with immense compassion. Zhang Zetian achieves neither of these. She is too safe, too perfect, and consequently, too dull. She is like a doll preserved under a glass bell jar, attempting from her sterile environment to teach those weathering storms outside: 'If you just keep smiling, the world will be beautiful.' To that, I can only reply: Yeah, right. This "Xiao Tian Zhang" serves as a vivid lesson in 'class isolation' for us ordinary people. It demonstrates that some lives are not only unattainable for us, but even their worries are 'premium troubles' beyond our comprehension. Since that's the case, there's no need for us to force ourselves to applaud. End of article. If you found this insightful, please give it a 'like'.
Comments